


It Starts at the Night Light

by Derkish



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Close Quarters, Eventually Resolved Sexual Tension, F/M, Gap Filler, Getting Together, Light Angst, Mini Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Perspective switch, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24597868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Derkish/pseuds/Derkish
Summary: Something happened the night before they killed the Cinder King.Well.  A lot of things happened.  But as it turned out, Vex and Percy had been in tune with each other's needs long before they reached that point.(Effectively a Perc'ahlia supercut. Or, a story about implicit mutual understanding and, on occasion, sharing close spaces.)
Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia
Comments: 20
Kudos: 110





	It Starts at the Night Light

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to tonight's episode of me cramming most of my favorite tropes into a blender. Happy Thursday!
> 
> A Thousand Thanks to the fabulous, the indomitable, the keen-eyed [Alala](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Alala) for putting in some serious hours with me on beta reading this story. Your insight is always on the money.
> 
> Update: Lowered the rating down to T because M felt a little extreme. But as a heads-up, there is some brief sexual content.

Something happened the night before they killed the Cinder King.

Well. A lot of things _happened_. Some of those things were indisputably physical. 

But there was something else, too, that had much less to do with tangled limbs and tangled sheets. A sort of untimely epiphany for them both.

For Percy, it dawned as a calm recognition. An “aha” moment that could translate—in the preoccupied mind of a man who believed that he might actually die tomorrow and had a lot to accomplish before then—roughly into “yes, I know.”

For Vex, the thought came on more as an “oh, fuck, _really?_ ”

But this night was the culmination of a thousand moments over the course of their lives, all of which led them to this place and time in Whitestone Castle. And some of them happened before either Vex or Percy had a thought (much less that kind of thought) about the other.

Way, _way_ before.

* * *

Percy lay spread-eagle on the deck of the ship with no notion of how long he’d been there. The concept of time was still catching up with him.

Above, blue sky captured his entire field of vision, corner to corner, until a single bird came into view. It circled over him from hundreds of feet, its wings outstretched in effortless flight. What was it? A hawk? Percy couldn’t make out the details. The lens of his glasses had a spider-web crack over his only good eye; the other eye was still perpetually blurry, even days after he first regained consciousness below deck.

It was a nothing injury, compared to the rest of it. The ship’s men had patched him up the old fashioned way: whiskey and fishing line. Pour a little liquor over the wounds to clean them out, stitch up the gashes and the cuts, and slap on a little willow bark paste for the illusion of pain relief. It was a rough job, but better than the alternative. Better than—

Percy abruptly remembered. The memories were still sparking back into his mind in needle-sharp fragments, but now he could hear it again, like the first time: the keys fiddling in the lock, and Cassandra’s voice over his insistence that they mustn’t leave. _If we don’t go now, there will be nothing left of you tomorrow_. He hadn’t believed that was the case. He had it on good authority that they weren’t going to kill him. But he hadn’t been strong enough to fight when Cassandra took him by the hand, and so they ran, until—

That bird. It must be a buzzard, Percy decided, with no real basis. If he lay perfectly still, maybe it would swoop down to pick him clean. He’d get a better look, anyway—

The thought cut short at the sharp, momentary pain of a boot tip against the crown of his head.

“Oy! You hear me, boy?”

The ever-scowling face of one of the crewmen (the first mate?) floated into view. The end of his tobacco pipe drooped so low that it threatened to dump burning ash on Percy’s face.

Was he remembering it right?

Percy rubbed the top of his head, where he could already feel the beginnings of a welt. He sat up. The act took significant effort, and more time than it ought to; he was terrified of dislodging a bandage, or popping a stitch. Although, if that memory was true, then…

“Ah, good,” the first mate was saying. He’d squatted down in front of Percy to look him over. “Sorry for the kick—thought you were dead for a second.”

Percy touched his throat. The swelling had come down, but he could still feel the scabbing there, just above the collarbones. And a burning obstruction that had nothing to do with Ripley’s lancet. 

They’d told him not to talk, or else his vocal cords might not heal. Percy hadn’t tried. He hadn’t needed to, until now. He had to press his hand into his windpipe to coax out the words. They came forth as a breathy rasp, and stung like jagged gravel. “I deserve it.”

* * *

“Whoo boy, we’re going to die out here.”

“Shut up, Vax. You’re scaring off dinner.”

Vex wouldn’t die, but Vax might. And if he did, it wouldn’t be from starvation. It would be from one of her arrows if he didn’t stop fucking around with the campfire. The _flick! flick! flick!_ of flint had gone from worrisome to grating, and all he had to show for it was a smoldering pile of twigs. Not that Vex had done any better—after an hour of puttering around in the woods, she’d returned empty-handed.

She blamed it on the adrenaline from their decision. And exhaustion; they’d been up all night riding through the dark on a pair of stolen horses. Besides all of that, she’d never had to hunt on her own before. Archery in an open field was one thing. Shooting at lures and targets could only prepare you so much. But Vex was a good archer—better than good. Top of class, against all odds.

Maybe it was better if they didn’t have a fire, anyway. Someone might see them from the road.

“I hope we made it far enough,” said Vex. “Can you imagine the embarrassment of being dragged back to Syngorn?”

Vex could hear the gossip now: _“Look at that, the othlir can’t even run away without making fools of themselves.”_

A shift of the underbrush caught her eye as a squirrel popped out from beneath a mound of leaves. Vex had an arrow knocked back in a millisecond.

“Bold of you to assume there’s a search party,” said Vax, still flicking those stones against the tinder. “I’ll bet when Syldor finds us gone, he won’t say anything. Except ‘who?’ when the headmaster asks why his little halfsies missed school. Or why _you_ missed school…”

Vex released, and the squirrel plunged out of sight as the momentum of the arrow caught it mid-hop. With a tiny thrill of pride, she hurried over to collect the spoils before something else could grab it.

“But fuck him, right?” Vax was saying. “Fuck all of them. What do we need any of them for?”

Vex stutter-stopped. The arrow shaft stuck out of the squirrel’s middle, pinning it in place against a rotted stump, but the squirrel was still moving. “Moving” wasn’t the right word. It was writhing, flipping over itself in a silent agony. She watched in horror as the arms and legs and tail flung about in futility.

She could almost see the disappointment on her archery instructor’s face. Not even that, if she was being honest with herself; disappointment required a certain level of expectation.

Vex crouched in front of the squirrel, conscious of the lump in her throat that had been forming there for hours.

“Did you get it?” said Vax, just out of sight. “I’m starving.”

Wordlessly, Vex reached out. The squirrel was too weak to fight her. Its little neck felt so small in her hand, the bones of the spinal column so fragile. The frantic movement stopped with the decisive turn of her wrist.

“I got it.”

* * *

The crowd had circled up around the docks. Percy hadn’t thought that there’d be so many, but Harrison must have been running his mouth on shore again. Percy could hear him out there now, hollering, “Alright people, clear a path!”

Percy stepped off the gangplank and onto the dock, the weapon cradled in his hands like a newborn. When he’d told a few of his crewmates that he was ready to test it out, he’d pictured a more intimate setting. It all seemed rather garish to do it this way.

He walked past the dozen or so faces, mostly sailors, and over to the adjacent dock that ran parallel to the fishing vessel. The ship it housed wouldn’t return for another day or two, leaving them with a long catwalk of wooden planks. At the far end, someone had stacked a pile of crates and topped them with a single bottle of rum.

The weapon had a nice heft to it. Percy weighed it in his hand, taking one last look at the barrel to see which name was to be the honorary test subject. The sight of _Anna Ripley_ carved there made him almost jittery with anticipation.

Raising the weapon to eye level, Percy took his time in aiming down the sights. The first shot would tell him a lot about this thing. There would be some amount of kick-back, and possibly some smoke. Part of him expected nothing to happen at all (unlikely, given the sheer amount of black powder he’d packed in). It might even explode and take out his eye. Perhaps he should have worn a mask. He made a mental note to add it to the list.

Forty feet away, the rum bottle waited with the afternoon sun glinting off the rim. Percy waited for the gust of sea air to die down as he stared at the bottle, poised for the shot. He pictured Ripley’s face and pulled the trigger.

Several nearby gulls scattered to the air at the sound of the shot, and the bystanders collectively started in surprise. The recoil almost knocked him backwards off the dock. Percy found himself engulfed in a cloud of black powder, his ears full of a shrill ringing. When the smoke dissipated, the bottle sat there as before, but one of the crates now had a gaping hole. He could see the ocean through it.

“You missed!” said one of the spectators.

“Thank you, I hadn’t noticed.” Percy leveled the weapon again, adjusted his aim, and fired a second shot.

Another explosive _bang!_ rang through the harbor. Percy was ready for the sensation this time, but it wasn’t quite the same. His arm jerked as something inside the weapon clicked out of place. He didn’t have time to figure out what it was, because the sound of a startled yell caught him first. Voices rose along the dock. Percy turned to see Harrison on his knees, doubled over with his hands clamped over his stomach and blood eking out from between his fingers.

As the others swarmed to help him, Percy looked down at the construct in his hand. One of the coils in the chamber had come undone and caused a misfire. Percy began fiddling with it, trying to snap it back into place. That was when he noticed where the shot had fired from.

The sixth barrel. The only one without a name.

_No, that’s not right._

Percy looked back to where his shipmate lay bleeding on the ground. 

_Not no name._

* * *

“How old do you think he is?”

“I’m not sure…” Vex stole another look down the table, like one more glance might do the job. “It’s so hard to tell, with the hair. How does that even happen? Do you think it’s natural?”

“Dunno.” Vax slurped the foam off the top of his pint. “Kinda sexy though, the whole getup. The layers and the straps and all.”

“Right?”

They both turned, this time in unison, for another less-than-covert look toward the far end of the bartop. Percy-the-newcomer was trapped between Tiberius and Scanlan talking over one another while Grog got drunker and drunker and Keyleth crafted flowers into Pike’s hair. He had two hands on his drink and a look on his face that fell somewhere between irritation and amusement. Like he was too confused by what he was seeing to spend energy on annoyance. 

Vex was beginning to suspect the air of imperiousness was permanent. She thought maybe he’d been compensating for the undignified way they found him, but this was actually better. It suited him well.

“He is a little uptight, isn’t he?” Vex ventured.

“Uptight!” Vax laughed. “The guy shot off some stranger’s nose today and laughed harder than Grog about it. But sure, let’s call it uptight.”

To be fair, the so-called stranger had actually been one of seven people trying to rob them on the road. And he’d had his hands on the satchel with the party funds—a big no-no. Vex put it on the table now, between her and her brother, where she could keep two eyes on it. Two hands, if necessary.

“What would _you_ call it?” Vex asked.

“Baggage,” said Vax. “But hey, who are we to judge—we’ve all got baggage, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” Vex scoffed. “The only baggage I’ve got right now is this bag of gold. And plans for more.”

Vex gave the bag an affectionate pat, then glanced over again just as Grog slapped Keyleth on the back, knocking her into her goblet. As the goblet’s contents journeyed across the table, Percy turned his head in Vex’s direction. He didn’t bother moving when Keyleth’s drink began to soak into his sleeve; he still looked mildly confused, as if he wasn’t sure how he’d got there. Vex winked at him.

Vax shook his head, exasperated but grinning. He tipped his pint to hers. “Plans for more. I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

After an hour of searching, the party found shelter in an outcropping along the banks of the Tundrun River. Vex and Percy took their first watch together since they’d sprung him from his prison cell, a fact that neither of them acknowledged as the rest of the party settled down for some sleep in the earthy alcove.

They spoke little, sitting far apart on opposite ends of the camp. Vex claimed an exposed rock in the shallow part of the river. She spent most of her watch there, looking off to the south with guarded wariness while the water flowed past on either side.

She had not been so close to Syngorn in years. Vex had been thinking on that place a lot more than usual lately, what with their journey bringing them down in this direction. It had no business sitting in her head like that. 

Yet, even a mountain range of separation felt like too little. The thought of all of those people, sitting cozy in their homes just across the jagged line of the Stormcrest Mountains—

“What is it?”

Vex jumped, which in turn made Percy jump. “Sorry,” he apologized, almost dropping his gun in the water. He was standing a few feet away on the pebbled shore. “Is there something out there? You’ve been watching for a while.”

“And you’ve been watching me instead of looking out for goblins or whatever?”

“No, I—” he began, taken aback, but she cut him off.

“Relax, darling, it was a joke.” Vex rose and brushed off her clothes. How were they always so filthy? “I saw you messing around over there—is that thing of yours always broken, or is it just a nervous habit?”

Percy fixed her with a keen look. “I wouldn’t call it _that_ , but…” His eyes moved from Vex, standing over him on the rock, to the dark outline of the mountains to the south, and then back to her. “Not all of us wear your brand of armor,” he said, a little coolly.

The words struck her like a full-on slap to the face. Vex almost gaped at him, but instead, she ignored him entirely. It was nothing. Less than a bluff.

* * *

Percy should have known better than to come up here with lofty expectations. Greyskull Keep wasn’t a third as tall as Whitestone, nor as close to the city proper, nor as intrinsically sentimental. He had half convinced himself that Whitestone had been a fever dream—an incomparable figment of his imagination. And yet, here he was, on the highest parapet overlooking all of Emon, and he was comparing views.

It was really unfair to their brand new keep. And it was just like him to be disappointed.

Still, the view would serve. Cirrus clouds crossed over in wisps, blurring the boundary between the night sky and the Ozmit Sea. Percy had been up there for over an hour, perched at the best vantage point, when Vex appeared.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked in surprise when she spotted him. She had a blanket draped over her shoulders and a wine bottle in one hand. No glass to go with it, though. “I thought you were breaking in your workshop?”

Percy flashed his sketchbook as an answer. “I need something to build first. What are _you_ doing up here?”

“It’s the first night in our brand new keep,” said Vex, visibly relishing the words as she said them. “I want to know every corner of this place so well that I could walk it in my sleep. And I had to make sure everything was built to specification, of course.”

“Of course.” He spared her a perfunctory glance. “Judging by the look of things, I’m guessing your inspection was a success.”

Her grin broadened. “Yes. I am in a _good_ _mood_.”

“Do you often drink alone when you’re in a good mood?” he said idly.

“I’m not alone, darling,” said Vex, offering him the bottle. “You’re here with me.”

“That’s—” What. Evasive? Clever? Percy accepted the bottle, unsurprised to find it half empty. “Fair.”

Percy drank, and judged the wine to be decent. Not that he’d had much opportunity to develop a real palate before the Briarwoods had their way with him. He would have handed the drink back to her, but she had already crossed to the parapet to peer over the edge.

“It’s quite the wind up here.” Vex shrugged the blanket off and held it over the edge in one fist, where it flapped and snapped in the updraft. “Look at that. Doesn’t it make you want to just—?”

Vex opened her arms and leaned against the stone wall in a mimicry of falling, letting the air rush up and toss her hair.

“Not at all,” said Percy, instinctively stepping forward. He didn’t know quite how drunk she was, but he could only hope it wasn’t drunk enough to climb up on the wall and test her theory. “And particularly not without a spellcaster to catch me at the bottom. Here, have this instead—”

They passed the bottle back and forth for several minutes, staring off into the night. Eventually, Vex took an especially long drink, and said, out of nowhere, “I’ve always wished I could fly, as long as I can remember. Is that silly?”

“Not at all,” Percy said. “Someone invented the flying spell, didn’t they?”

“Mmmm, I suppose.”

“We do have a carpet, if you really wanted to jump from the top of the keep. Perhaps in the daylight hours, however. And with Pike on standby.”

“Oh, that’s not the same! I want to be able to just—just open my arms and take off,” she said wistfully, throwing her arms open again. “Leave it all behind.”

“What, all of this?” Percy laughed. “Is having your own keep and a place on the council not enough?”

“It’ll never be enough.”

In a beat, Vex caught herself. She laughed and tipped the bottle back for another gulp, like she could erase what she’d said. Then she pressed it back into his hand, like she wanted him to forget she’d said it, too. “Great view, though, isn’t it?”

Percy gave the bottle a swirl, and with a lingering look at Vex, raised it for a sip. The rim was still wet when it touched his lips.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Stunning.”

* * *

Three exploding arrows—two regular exploding arrows, and one really, really beautiful one. Percy could have used it as a template, but he gave it to Vex instead. Once in a while, he made something that was just too perfect to keep to himself.

“Come here, you beautiful bastard.”

It was a playful kiss. A little rough. Quick. Fueled by gratitude and that sincere recklessness that was so on-brand for the twins. She’d pulled back and let go of him before he had a chance to process it.

(Some ideas were better left to yellow on the pages. Had he learned nothing?)

The gifts kept coming. 

* * *

Vex slipped out of the tent and sighed in relief at the sudden drop in volume. The campfire didn’t need any tending, and Grog was snoring with Trinket on a patch of dirt dug out of the snow. Across the other side of the fire, Vex spied Percy sitting on his unfurled bedroll with his gun disassembled around him.

“No special pajamas tonight, Percival?” she said as she approached.

“I’ve learned my lesson,” he said dryly, “and retired them for traveling purposes.”

“That’s too bad,” she teased. “Can I join you for a few? My ears were starting to hurt in there.”

Percy nodded, and Vex sat beside him on the bit of bedroll not taken up by a set of tools. “Lyra talks in her sleep,” he said, still focused on the gun; he was wiping off some oil with a stained rag.

“Oh, I know. I’ll be hearing her voice in my dreams for a fortnight.”

“Is that all?”

Vex shrugged. “It might be more, depending on how long it takes us to get home. Though hopefully not as long as it took us to get out here—the storm’s clearing up; did you notice?”

Percy glanced skyward, and said, “I hadn’t, but that’s interesting.”

“Still fucking cold, though,” said Vex, pulling her cloak in tighter.

“Ironically, it does ameliorate the need to ice.” Percy tapped the side of his face that she couldn’t see. “If I sit out here all night, the swelling should be gone by morning.”

“How are you, by the way? You almost died.”

“But I didn’t,” he said loftily, clicking the barrel back into place.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help,” said Vex, thinking back with regret on how the battle had gone. “I spent most of that fight cowering in fear.”

“That’s not true. I saw a few good shots arc from your side of the platform. And a few explosions, which is always nice.”

Leaning in closer, Vex touched two fingers to his chin, gently drawing his attention from the weapon in his hands. “How’s it looking?”

Obligingly, biting back an obvious sigh, Percy turned his head to show her the side of his face that Rimefang had shoved into the ice. The healing potion had done good work; most of the open wounds had closed. As evidenced by the dark smudge beneath his eye, it had healed his broken nose, too. Percy had been right about the swelling; it looked far better than it had hours ago when they set off from the lair.

Percy grimaced just slightly when she touched his jaw, his gaze fixed over her shoulder. Vex assessed the injury, and the rest of his face, thinking back to the stress of the battle and how it had felt to know two of the party had fallen while she was too frightened to approach. There was a bruise purpling on his cheekbone. A temporary thing, but so rude to make a mark on his face. Her thumb lingered over it, and Vex felt a rush of thrill and anger that she attributed to the dragon now diced up in her bag.

“I should really learn some healing spells,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“You should,” Percy agreed, finally meeting her eyes. There was something about it that caught her off guard, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. He scanned the places where she knew her own wounds stood on proud display: the cold-burn on her temple, the nick that almost caught her in the eye.

He regarded the cut on her lip for a few long seconds before saying, “You could use one.”

Vex brushed his hair away from his forehead. Then she flicked his ear, and he winced. “Speak for yourself, handsome.”

Percy didn’t react when she stood up again.

“Don’t freeze out here, all right?” she said, picking his coat up off the ground and draping it over his shoulders. “I can’t lose the only other person in this group with an ounce of common sense.”

Later, when Vex lay awake to the sound of Lyra’s sleep-talking, she realized what had been off. He’d been holding his breath.

* * *

“Keyleth’s tonic is fighting me.”

Between the loss of the carpet, Grog’s kerfuffle with the potion merchant, and the two hundred gold Vex had just turned over for a warhorse, Percy suspected the tonic was the lesser source of her discomfort. Sometimes a hangover was the distraction instead of the punishment.

Money was probably the reason that she jumped to join him when he announced that he had one last bit of shopping to accomplish before the group set out for Pyrah. And on the way back, money was what caused Percy to pause as they passed through a few central blocks that didn’t blend with the rest of the city.

Percy had assumed that places like this must exist _somewhere_ in the packed-mud streets of Vasselheim. Visiting lords and ladies couldn’t be expected to sleep and dine at the Slayer’s Take, could they? It seemed so natural a thing that he wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he hadn’t caught Vex watching a cluster of elven women emerge from inside one of the buildings—a dining establishment, on a lot set back from the road and strewn with manicured gardens.

The smells of fresh bread and spices followed the patrons out the door, along with the muffled sound of laughter from inside. From the street, they could look through the glare of the windows and see groups enjoying their meals.

Percy didn’t notice most of the detail. He was looking at Vex, and the way her chin had tilted downward, just a touch.

“I _am_ a bit peckish,” he said.

“We don’t have time,” Vex answered, too quickly. “The others will be waiting for us.”

“Please. Tiberius will be wasting our time for at least another hour with his endless shopping list.”

Percy didn’t give her the chance to protest. He brushed past her toward the front door, and trusted that she’d rather follow him inside than stand out on the street alone looking dejected.

And that was how they wound up tucked into a corner of what Percy had to assume was the fanciest restaurant in the whole city. His expectations for Vasselheim levels of opulence hadn’t been high, but even he was surprised by the attention to detail. Linen tablecloths, waitstaff in uniform, drinking glasses that all matched each other. Several steps above any place their rag-tag party would ever frequent.

“There are menus,” Vex hissed once they were seated, ducking behind hers as if trying to hide from the other patrons’ sight. “ _Menus_ , Percy. What are we doing here?”

The space was smaller than he’d anticipated; their knees bumped under the table as Percy pushed in his seat. He watched Vex read the menu once over, and then again, nervously flattening her hair with her hand. Her expression grew increasingly distraught at the figures on the page. Percy could see her doing the math in her head, so painfully obvious to them both.

“Less than two days ago, we killed an adult white dragon,” he said, gently taking the menu from her. “So we are having brunch.”

“Brunch…” Vex echoed, looking lost. “I criticize the others for spending party funds on potions, and then I go out for _brunch_ —”

The waitress appeared, wielding a carafe of ice water. “Would you like to begin with drinks?” she said as she poured.

“Please,” said Percy, before Vex could interject. “Do you have anything local?”

“Of course. Our house drink is a gin and tonic that pairs well with most of our shellfish options. If you’re more of a wine person, we do also have a nice red that we’re offering as a seasonal special. We grow it right here in the Abundant Terrace.”

“I was thinking we might start with a cheese plate, actually, so I’m leaning toward the wine, unless you think it might not pair well.”

“Not at all. I think you’ll find the fruitiness is a perfect complement to the chef’s platter.”

“That’s excellent, thank you.”

The waitress turned on Vex. “For you, ma’am?”

Vex, who had been watching this exchange with thinly-veiled distress, folded her hands on her lap and said, “Whatever he’s having.”

With a little nod of approval, the waitress made a note. “Don’t worry, your husband has great taste. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Percy watched her walk off, oddly satisfied—a sensation that did not wear off even when Vex said “Percy,” in that one certain tone.

“Yes, dear?”

Percy turned to find her looking as dubious as before. He sighed. “Look. Scanlan used his share of the Slayer’s Take funds on the intimate company of strangers. In my view, a good meal before a long journey does the job just as well, at a fraction of the cost.” Percy patted the breast pocket of his coat, where she knew he kept the small amount of coin he hadn’t handed over. “My treat. We can call it a thank you, if that takes the edge off.”

“For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure you’ve stopped me from doing something reckless in the past few weeks…”

Vex raised her hands in a shrug, half defeated and half amused. “Fuck it, then. Brunch it is. Not that I know half the stuff they serve here.”

“Not to worry, dear,” Percy said, with a wave of the menu he’d taken from her. “I’ll order for you.” 

* * *

In the cave beneath the Sun Tree, Percy bared his soul. Or at least, the parts of it he couldn’t hide any longer.

“Don’t you worry, we’ve got you.”

Vex meant the kiss as an assurance, but the look on his face… it was pure alarm.

Percy recovered quickly enough, ducking his head to cough into his sleeve. Fighting the fog didn’t help him any. One of the mist-like vampires pulled him in and sunk its fangs into his neck. When he crawled back to bed afterward, crammed in his spot between Trinket and the earthy wall of the passage, he was still touching the marks. 

Vex took up the watch with Vax and Keyleth—mostly to throw an element of chaos into her brother’s love life. But as it turned out, it was unnecessary; their collective wariness after the attack on their camp put everything else on standby. At the close of the one-and-a-half-elf watch, Vex crept across the tight sleeping quarters, carefully stepping over Scanlan en route back to Trinket.

The bear grumbled as she shook him awake. “Go look after Grog,” she whispered, ruffling his fur. “If he wants to play hand slaps, try not to claw his fingers off. We need him tomorrow.”

Once Trinket had groused his protest and ambled off, Vex took up the space, fluffing out her bedroll where Trinket had flattened it. With his size taking up so much of the basement corridor, she had almost forgotten Percy had been set up next to him. He was on top of the blanket, his back turned against her. He shifted in drowsy acknowledgement as she settled down beside him.

“Is it morning?” he mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear.

“No, just changing watch,” she whispered back, surprised; he was usually such a sound sleeper. “Go back to sleep.”

Percy coughed a few times and tugged his collar up over his face to stifle the sound, a gesture that hiked his shirt halfway up his back. Vex watched him touch the fresh bite marks again. Even in the dark, she saw his fingers come up bloody.

She shuffled herself closer for a look at it. Two puncture wounds, with half-dried blood leaking down his neck. He flinched when she touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Percy nodded, still coughing, and fell quiet. He didn’t react when she uttered the healing incantation, but the wound closed over.

Vex waited for his breath to slow into the soft, shallow rhythm of sleep. Even unconscious, his posture had a tenseness to it. She looked him over, starting with the drying blood on his neck and ending at the small of his back where his shirt had ridden up. A few long lines ran at odd angles along his skin. All old, she knew. She’d never noticed them before; they all had scars, some that predated the time they’d been together. But now Vex wondered, and heard the way his voice had sounded at Greyskull Keep the night he confessed his history: _I was not equipped for torture_. Who was, really?

She waited for several long minutes, wrestling with herself. Percy clearly hadn’t told them everything, but who was she to judge for that? Harrying him on it now wouldn’t do them any good—certainly less good than a full night’s rest would do. And yet, there was a tightness in her throat she couldn’t ignore.

In the end, she took the middle ground. Vex lifted one hand and let it hover over his back, barely an inch away, the heat from his body radiating into her palm. And then—so slowly, gradually, careful not to wake him—she pressed the hand into his back, between his shoulder blades. She didn’t really believe that she could channel her resolve through him, but she tried anyway.

Vex stayed that way all night, and Percy woke up coughing.

* * *

Percy almost couldn’t believe the ease of it. His own two feet carrying him across the room, a few gunshots and a few choice words. And there he was, standing over Professor Anders. His hand had never felt so steady.

Despite his bloodied state, Anders had the nerve to talk to him. At him. Percy only heard the words in the abstract, but even so, they irritated him profoundly. The smoke was curling up his arm, his neck, behind his ear, whispering that singsong mantra.

_Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance._

The thought had occurred to him last night for the first time: had he wished for vengeance, or had the need for it simply come to him? No matter; he wasn’t thinking about that now. The ink had dried on the contract: his humanity for the determined flash of black powder. This was it. This was the world, and the only sound. _Vengeance_.

“I die to rise again. We are his blood—”

Percy cut him off. Grabbed the back of his head and thrust the gun into his mouth. A tooth chipped as Anders gagged on steel and blood. Percy felt the tremor of movement up the barrel and into his arm, his chest, blending with the cold wrath. He pulled back the hammer, setting the ammunition. 

_Vengeance_ —

Very well then. 

_Bang_.

High as a kite on summary execution—no, retribution—Percy watched the corpse slump backwards off the end of his gun. The name vanished with a purple flash, leaving him in a swirl of dissipating smoke, chest heaving. 

That was… Was that supposed to satisfy him? Sir Kerrion had left him wanting, but this one had been different. Anders had been personal. Percy had been sure that this one would do the trick. And yet, the space between his ribs still ached with a hollow starvation. How could that be? 

_The List, Percival… three names begging for vengeance, all in this very castle… quench your thirst tonight. You must—_

In the back of his mind, it registered. First a voice, and then—

“Percival, how are you?”

He heard himself say, “Fine.”

Slowly, Percy turned his head to peer down through the cloud of black. And there was Vex, kneeling at his feet. She had grasped his hand.

“Darling, take the mask off,” she implored, looking up at him in earnest, like he was made of something other than smoke and poison.

* * *

The first time it happened, it was for sure unintentional. For sure.

The events leading up to it, however… not so much. Vex had run full sprint into the Winter’s Crest celebrations with the intent of a regretful morning. She had planned to cling to her friends and sing and talk and laugh until the town square emptied out and Keyleth inevitably threw up (which, in fairness, would make her one of the last to do it). And while Vex hadn’t intended ahead of time to poke around a little on her way to bed, it seemed the right thing to do at the time, so she did it. Why not.

Which was why, when Vex woke up pinned between the backrest of the couch and a warm body, she wasn’t _surprised_ , per se. She just had to walk her brain back the last few steps to remember how she got there. Still being a little drunk didn’t help, but she worked it out.

First things first: was she wearing pants? Yes. Good. Check that one off the list.

Next up: where was she? Without moving, Vex cracked an eye open to peer into the dark. Maroon cushions (the library), the dimmest light (fire burned down; been there for a while).

As for the “who,” she didn’t have to think too hard. The rest had already clicked into place. Wandering the hallways, peeking into the library, spotting Percy sitting on the lounger by the fire with one last nightcap and his sketchbook. 

Vex had asked him why he was sitting up alone, and he’d answered that he was enjoying a few minutes of quiet to wind down after the celebration. And she’d laughed and said “it’s almost four in the morning,” and he’d replied he did his best work at night. Which had prompted her to ask whether he was making her something special. 

And fuck. He fucking _was_. 

So, naturally, Vex had asked if she could see what he was drawing. And even though he was super protective of his sketchbook, Percy had surprised her with a “Sure, why not?” which had led to her sitting down beside him—

—at, of course, a proportionately appropriate distance that Vex calculated based on her measure of his body language (open, tranquil), the value of the invitation (a sneak peak: very high), and her own sobriety level (best not to ask).

And a conversation that began as one about the balance of weight in an arrow shaft gradually morphed over the course of an hour (and perhaps a whiskey) to wild conjecture about how Gilmore would feel about his glorious library…

… and now to Vex, vaguely awake with Percy curled against her frame like he fucking _belonged_ there.

There, now she remembered. Completely unintentional, perfectly logical. Vex knew it because Percy nodded off first at the tail end of their little chat, and instead of getting up and going to her room like a reasonable person, she’d sat there instead. They had all been so busy these past few days that they hadn’t really checked in, and Percy had been the busiest. Unsurprising, given all of the unfinished business in Whitestone. She liked the tranquil look about him just then—such a contrast to two weeks ago. No cough, no chilled look in his eye, definitely no smoke. It was almost cathartic to watch him. Vex had settled into the cushions, and told herself she wouldn’t fall asleep. 

But she had. And now here she was. And here he was. And there they were. 

Vex had an acute sense of his body behind her, pressing into her back. She didn’t need to look to know he was on his side, one arm tucked under his head in place of a pillow. His other arm had fallen over her waist, hand resting on her midriff where it rose and fell with her breath. Glancing down, she saw the glasses dangling loosely from his fingers. And his hips were… well, right where they ought to be, were it some other kind of circumstance.

It had been some time since Vex had that kind of contact—or, this wasn’t _that_ kind of contact, exactly. And even back then, she’d never been much of a snuggler. Sneaking out in the aftermath had always been easier than the alternative; people got so weird when you stayed the whole night. Sometimes they wanted sex, but more often, they wanted to have breakfast and talk about their feelings.

For a fraction of a second, Vex wondered which kind of person Percy was. Then she caught herself.

Vex shifted, the smallest bit, testing the space. She was wedged in pretty well between Percy and the back of the lounge, but she might be able to slip out undetected. Percy was a dead sleeper, especially with a few drinks in him, and she was an expert at stealing away from other peoples’ beds (sofas, floor mats, whatever) in the pre-dawn hours. But the warmth and the dimness and the soft sound of his sleep all had a certain lulling effect. And there was something lovely about the way his breath blew over the nape of her neck, and the gentle weight of his body, holding her there—

 _Stop that, Vex’ahlia_.

She was still drunk(ish). She could forgive herself the errant thought, right? It was meaningless. As long as she suppressed the tiny, trifling little urge to just… push her hips back into his, the teeniest bit—

 _No. Nope_.

All right, fine. Vex struggled in silence between the two options: leave now and risk waking him, or wait a while and hope he either moved or woke up later and spared her the conversation. The latter presented too much room for uncertainty. She hadn’t gotten around to asking why it even mattered (it was, as she’d established, Completely Unintentional) when Percy spared her from the decision.

A slight movement preceded Percy’s slow, deep inward breath as he began to stir. Vex counted the long moments as he crawled his way toward consciousness. Not quite awake, he tucked himself closer, reflexively, his hand sliding across the bare skin of her midriff where her shirt had ridden up, just north of her hipbones— _fuck_ —

What finally did it? Was it the smell of the flowers (now probably squashed) that Pike had braided into her hair? The heat of another person’s body? Or was it simply an inevitable side effect of falling asleep in the wrong place? In any case, Vex knew the exact moment he came-to enough to realize he wasn’t alone in his bed. Percy almost jolted in surprise, but he caught himself (and the gasp), and froze entirely. 

Even in this awkward situation, Vex couldn’t suppress a smirk at the sound of Percy breathing out a nigh inaudible “ _What—?_ ” behind her left ear.

Vex could feel his heart pounding through her own lungs. She could practically _hear_ the cogs in his brain turning over as he tried to figure out how to extricate himself without rousing her. The hand under her shirt twitched like he was tempted to yank it back, but he kept still. For a wild moment, Vex thought he might have decided to stay put, until she realized he was waiting to see whether he had woken her up. 

Happy to cooperate if it avoided confrontation, Vex shifted a little, feigning movement in her sleep, then settled back down with a soft sigh. Her ears were humming.

Some amount of time passed. It may have been a minute, or five. After however long it took Percy to convince himself that she was asleep, he slowly began his withdrawal. He lifted his fingers from her skin one at a time, and then eased his arm from where it’d been draped across her hip. And then, taking care not to make a sound, he rolled away from her, backwards off the cushions and onto the floor. Vex listened as he stood and began to tiptoe about the room, gathering up his glasses and his coat.

A pause followed after he cracked the door to the library. Vex assumed that he was peeking out to see whether anyone would spot him on his way down the hall, which was why she was surprised when, a moment later, something light and soft fell over her. A blanket. The door closed again, and Vex was left alone, wide-awake, face warm, almost stinging.

In the morning, when Vex walked into the dining hall to find Percy and Cassandra drinking coffee over a set of construction plans, she greeted them with a hungover half-wave.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear,” Cassandra observed.

“Am I?” Vex sighed, raising her arm to stretch the shoulder she’d slept on. She pretended not to notice Percy’s eyes flick to and away from the momentary flash of skin just below the hem of her shirt. “I had the best night’s sleep, actually.”

* * *

He’d known the battle was coming, and he was armed for it. They didn’t stop in Vasselheim nearly enough for him to get stingy on black powder. Still, when Percy poked his head out the door of Victor’s house to see Vex standing there, he had a moment of doubt.

“Two hundred fifty gold, if you’d be so kind,” said Percy, as if she might just hand it to him.

From across the threshold, Vex raised her eyebrows with that lofty pretense of surprise. “That much?”

His only fallback plan: “I’m going to make you something lovely,” he promised.

Vex’s entire demeanor transformed. “I love you!” she said in a sing-song voice, hurrying up the walk to meet him, her hand already deep in her pocket.

Percy blamed the sudden heat in his face on concern over the news he’d just heard from Victor about Ripley. Or the well-dressed, well-paying woman he assumed must be Ripley. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Ripley, dogging his steps, frequenting his shops? The notion was enough to pique his apprehension. Victor wasn’t exactly posting advertisements in the town square, and the residence was more foreboding than inviting.

Ripley. He played it off for preservation’s sake, but by a fraction. The name bouncing off the inside of his head was enough to trap him momentarily in the confines of a prison cell.

Distracted by the thought, Percy served as the barrier between Vex and Victor’s advances while she counted out the coin. As always, she touched each piece like an individualized farewell before she put it in Percy’s hands, masterfully brushing off Victor’s leering and offers for coffee. Percy was eager to leave the bomb that Victor called a home, but he waited patiently until Vex had put the last pieces in his palm before he turned it over. Something about that process slowed him down, burned off some of the adrenaline. By the time she was done, he’d come up with a plan.

“Victor! Thank you, you’re so kind,” said Percy, gathering up his purchase in both arms and avoiding the lantern that Victor inexplicably left burning on the table. “And if you would be so lovely as to not mention us to my friend if she should happen back…”

Victor put out a maimed hand. “Fifty gold.”

Vex couldn’t have known what “friend” he was talking about. And Percy hadn’t meant to falter, either, but Vex had read the subtle cue before he could correct it.

Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she stepped around Percy, and leaned in toward Victor’s ash-smeared face to offer an indulgent smile.

“Tell you what, Victor,” she said wanly, with a wink. “I don’t think you want to tell her anything.”

Victor blinked, star-struck. “For you? I saw nothing!”

That was just too much. In his moment of relief, Percy turned to Vex and, almost laughing, said the first thing that came to his mind: “I love you, darling.”

Such an odd thing to hear so casually, coming from his own mouth. And such an easy, easy thing to say.

* * *

Vex landed amid a burst of cold shadow, the last bit of air escaping from her lungs. Percy ran over, skidding to a stop as he dropped to his knees, not feeling the pain where he hit the damp stone floor.

He knew. Before he reached out and grasped her wrist to confirm it, he knew. The four walls were closing in on him: carelessness, impatience, hubris, and finality. He had nothing left but this. This. The consequence of his own hand.

In less than a minute, it was over. The bargain struck, the life returned, and Vex— _Vex_ —sitting up, shivering slightly, even daring to laugh.

“What happened?”

For Vex, effectively, nothing. For Percy, much more than a moment’s pause (or a black eye).

* * *

That school. Her elven classmates and their jokes. The derisive looks of her teachers. All of them paraded through Vex’s mind as she scrubbed at her armor with a brush and polish.

Her father and his setup. His bet. His _fucking_ bet. None of it surprised her in hindsight. He’d always counted on her losing, even as she excelled to the highest ranks of the students.

Vex knew she was working herself up for nothing, but it was beyond her reason at this point. She had spot-cleaned the stains in her best clothes, polished her boots, buffed out the scratches in the leather. What would they see now, these elves? Surely not a hero of Emon. Surely not a—a victorious dragon-slaying member of the Tal’dorei council. But maybe, if she at least _looked_ the part, she could pass muster and avoid the worst of it—

_Just stop._ What difference did it make, honestly? Somehow, Syldor and his circle of conspiratorial fuckwits would look past the ruse, as they always had. It was plain on her face, in the comparative roundness of her features and the shortness of her ears (“docked,” they had always called it. Ears docked like the tail of a dog).

That’s what they would see. Her accomplishments: the latest in a lifetime of fucking things up.

Vex scraped the dirt out of the grooves in her armor with her fingernails. Her hands were rough, dirty. She couldn’t fix that. But the armor, she could fix. It wasn’t too late for her armor.

She and Vax had staked their hopes on one universal truth: the world was cold and harsh and that was it. The end. Who cares? Keep moving on. But now she had seen the other side of it, and the truth—the _real_ truth—began to climb out from the place where she’d buried it. Vex’s eyes burned as she thought of Keyleth, and Pike, Percy, Grog, even Scanlan. The longer she spent with them, the more she’d realized that she had been wrong about everything. It made the conclusion all the worse.

The cruelty of Syngorn wasn’t the universe. It was just her.

There was a knock on the door. Vex looked up, the last frayed threads of her resolve threatening to splinter. Her heart dropped and soared, all at once.

_Oh, it’s you. Of course it’s you._

* * *

The gift of eternal smugness. It had been worth it, just to give her that. Vex wore it so well, better even than him.

Percy was still debating what part had been his favorite. The proverbial kick to Syldor’s balls had been half the goal, of course, but the rest of the party’s effort to mask their surprise had been excellent in its own right. As for Vex… well. 

Outside on the street, she had pulled back from the hug and framed his face in her hands. He couldn’t have hidden his satisfaction if he’d tried. Her grin was too broad, too bright, her eyes shining.

“Even so, Percy—”

“You’re welcome.”

“I thank you so much.”

“Use it in good health.”

Vex kissed him full on the mouth, in front of everyone. A peck, really, but the effect was the same. She might as well have pulled his lungs right from his chest.

* * *

“There we are,” said Vex, having rearranged the tea set for the third or fourth time.

She crossed back under the protective greenbrush and took her seat next to Percy. From the nestled spot beneath the canopy, she could see the entirety of their setup for the first time. “Oh, that’s inviting, isn’t it? The candles were a nice touch.”

“I think the faeries will be pleased,” Percy said, still groggy from being shaken awake in the middle of his sleep. “Music, mood lighting, teacups the proportional size of hot springs. We’re really going to seduce them.”

“Shit, is that what it looks like? I just wanted to make it nice and pretty.”

“I’m confident they’ll be taken by the ambience, even as they die horrible, painful deaths in your cursed teacup baths.”

“Speaking of which—” The regular kettle had been steeping. Vex poured out two mugs, kept one for herself, and passed the other to Percy. “One definitely not-cursed cup of tea for you, _My Lord_ ,” she said, smirking at the way his mouth twisted in obvious discomfort.

“Please,” he begged, “I thought we had agreed that you would never, ever—”

“Oh, relax, you know I’m teasing.” Vex reclined against the tree limb they’d been using as a chair, her legs stretched out long beside him. The tip of her right boot bumped the insole of his left, and he straightened his foot, breaking the contact. “Here’s the real question, Percival: what shall _you_ call _me_ , now that I’m a titled woman?”

“Vex, I’d imagine,” he said into the brim of his cup.

She bumped his shoulder. “Not _Lady Vex’ahlia_?”

“Seems rather formal, doesn’t it?”

“What if I _want_ you to?”

Percy slurped his tea too loud for it to be intentional. Vex had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop from waking up the entire party with her laugh.

“That’s—” he choked, “within your rights.”

“Is it?” Vex said airily. “That’s good to know. But you can call me Vex for now.” She patted his knee. “I think we’re on familiar enough terms for that, don’t you?”

“I suppose we must be…”

Long after the music box stopped playing, Vex and Percy kept to their watch among the leaves. Time was a finicky thing in the Feywild, and the same was true here in the Moonbrush. Vex spent some minutes watching the sky for a shift in the constellations that might give her a sense of how long they stayed out here. Like the full moon, and everything else on this plane of existence, the stars refused to hint.

Percy had nodded off on her shoulder. His left foot relaxed, tipped sideways until it came to rest against her boot. The half-empty cup of tea threatened to spill out of his grasp and down his front. Vex caught it just in time and moved it out of harm’s way.

Percy grumbled some indistinct protest, his now-empty hand falling to the side, where it landed limply on her leg. Vex looked at it. Then, hesitantly, she set her own hand in his open palm. His fingers closed over hers in an automatic motion.

“M’not ready,” she heard him mumble.

Vex rested her cheek on the top of his head. “Me neither, darling.”

* * *

After setting aside his work for the night, Percy climbed the ladder for one last walk around the deck of the air ship. He had a few doubts about his ability to sleep, but the rest of the party didn’t seem affected. As the steady wind greeted him outside the cabin, he found them just where he expected to: sprawled across their bedrolls out of the crew’s footpath. Grog snoring on his back a few feet from Trinket. Scanlan, apart from the rest. Vax and Keyleth beneath a shared blanket. And Vex, leaning over the railing with her face in her hands.

“What’s worse, seasick or airsick?”

She jerked at the sound of his voice.

“Sorry,” he said.

Vex let out a deep breath and shook her head as he sidled up next to her. “It’s fine. Just trying to clear my head.”

Percy glanced down and spotted Fenthras propped up by her leg. She caught him looking; her hand closed over the bow, protective, and she turned her chin a fraction of an inch away from him. With all the bad ideas bouncing around in his own head, he didn’t feel entitled to push Vex on hers. Instead, he folded his arms atop the railing and looked out into the dark. 

The last few blots of civilization had faded from view as they left the Bay of Gifts behind them. All he could see now was stars—tens of thousands of millions of them, so many that they cast a glow on the water below. And the deck. Percy looked back at his friends, all asleep like babies after a good meal. It was a well-deserved rest, and needed. Tomorrow they’d arrive at Glintshore, and find whatever they’d find.

“Percy?”

“Hmm? Oh.”

Percy realized he’d been smiling. He drew his attention back to Vex, less than a shoulder’s width away. The starlight shone down on her, too. Her most of all. He allowed himself a moment to look her over. The wind had started to free her hair from its braid, and it whipped about, unruly. Her grip eased up on the bow.

At last, satisfied with what he’d seen, he met her eyes and said, “I just was thinking about Ripley.”

“Ripley?” said Vex, puzzled.

“Yes. I owe her a thank you, from years ago.” Percy looked back out into the dark, shaking his head at the thought. “You see, I begged her to kill me, and she just… wouldn’t.”

* * *

Lovely words, lovely gestures, all too late. Vex kissed him, because it was all that she could do now. One last plea.

“I should have told you. It’s yours.”

She hated herself for saying it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was. And because she knew she would never have said it at all if he hadn’t died.

It was just like him, to fool her like this. To trick her into kicking down her walls in the desperate hope of finding him on the other side. But it didn’t matter anymore; it was in the air now. She’d flay her pride and cut out her heart in front of everyone. Whatever it took.

* * *

Their paths merged on the way to the Sun Tree.

“I don’t suppose you squeezed in any more rest this afternoon?” said Vex, who had stopped in the entryway to wait for him. 

His voice came out a little more strained than intended when he answered, “Between making deals with the enemy and sorting out all the guns, you mean?”

“I thought not…” Vex looked him up and down, frowning. “You’re in no state to fight Vorugal.”

“I disagree. This is exactly how I envisioned the battle would go.”

“What, with you dying the day beforehand? Or the part about the green dragon?”

“Both, actually.”

She didn’t laugh.

They started off together, Percy holding the straps of his pack in both hands to distribute the weight better. His knees were still shaking from his tête-à-tête with Raishan (they’d been generally shaky all day, ever since he woke up from his post-death nap, but it was decidedly worse now). Carrying the bulk of his worldly possessions didn’t help him, either. He tried his best to mask how much effort it took to get down the long flight of steps.

Unfortunately for him, Vex was perceptive enough to notice even if she hadn’t been watching him in her periphery.

“You’re going to die again,” she said suddenly, stopping mid-step. The tone of dread and conviction caught him off guard.

Percy sighed. “I’d rather not, but I obviously can’t make any promises—”

“No,” said Vex. “Promise me you won’t.”

“We’ve both read enough to know that those kinds of promises are a thematically terrible idea, not to mention impossible to keep—”

“I don’t care. Promise me anyway.”

“Very well,” said Percy, both exasperated and charmed. If he knew anything about irony, the words would be the nail in his coffin. “I promise not to die tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Vex, relieved. “I shall take it as a personal offense if you do.”

She stretched her hand out, and Percy grasped it. “You know, unilateral promises don’t typically require handshakes.”

“Yeah, I know!” Vex blustered, fighting a smirk. “I was, just, checking your grip is all.”

“And?”

“And you passed. Nice and firm. Good job.”

Vex turned forward again, and her hand slid out from his without quite letting go. They kept moving toward the Sun Tree, no longer speaking, but he still felt her gaze on him. And the smile was gone.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to convince the rest of them to wait another day. All she had to do was point over to Percy, slumped in a corner of the mansion in his day clothes, oblivious to their heated conversation despite his close proximity.

Vex waited until the others had left before she woke him up with a gentle shake. “Is it starting already?” he said blearily, feeling around for his gun.

“No. You’re off the hook for tomorrow; we decided to wait another day to plan some more… give you more time to recharge.”

He squinted up at her, one eye closed against the light of the room. “Fixing your odds on my death, are you?”

It took her a second to process what he was saying. When it clicked, she scoffed. “It was a promise, Percival, not a _bet_. Let’s get you to bed…”

Percy started to climb to his feet. He had to push his way up the wall to do it, and when she grasped his bicep to assist, he didn’t object.

“Technically, I only promised not to die tomorrow,” he said as he stood up, somewhat bent over with his forearm crossed protectively over his abdomen. “If we push out the fight another day, anything could happen.”

“Shut up and go to bed.”

Vex escorted him to his room and loitered in the doorway as he shuffled about, arranging his weapons and other equipment. Halfway through, he turned around and seemed surprised to see her standing there.

“You’re making me anxious,” she admitted.

Percy took his glasses off and set them on the bedside table. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to stay up for a while. I want to look through my notes to see if I can find anything about Rimefang that might be helpful. It was so long ago… can I read in here for a bit?” Percy continued to stare, nonplussed. “I won’t stay long.”

He peered around and, seeing nowhere else for her to sit, gestured to the bed. Vex busied herself with organizing her notebooks before she sat on one side of it, atop the covers. On the other side, Percy prepared for sleep. She watched from the edge of her vision as he shed his many layers and dropped them in a heap, too exhausted to fold them. Off came the holsters, the vestige, and the waistcoat, and the neat line of buttons down his front. He shucked off his trousers, leaving the shorts beneath. Last came the undershirt. Vex saw him hesitate as he grasped the hem, and for a split second, she thought it might be because she was there.

In a way, she was right. As he pulled his arms up over his head to peel it off, she heard him stifle a grunt of pain. Vex turned at the sound and saw a flash of dark purple bruising on his chest and stomach before he pulled the sheet back and flopped onto the mattress, face-first with a groan.

The exit wounds on his back were the same ugly shade as the ones in front. Vex sucked in a breath through her teeth at the sight of them.

“It’s nothing,” he said blearily, muffled against the sheets.

“Like hell!”

Before she could stop herself, Vex reached out a hand and grazed one of the marks with her fingertips—feather-light, hardly a touch at all. She regretted it immediately; it was too close, too familiar. His skin prickled at the contact, but he hardly seemed to notice. Percy gathered up the pillow in both arms and tucked it under his chin.

He took a deep, meditative breath. “Thank you, Vex,” he said quietly, tilting his head just enough to look at her. “For the extra day.”

Vex bit her lip. “Of course,” she said, ruffling his hair in a distracted gesture of comfort. “We need you in tip-top shape.”

Percy closed his eyes, and let out his breath, and didn’t speak again.

Vex passed out there. Of course she did. In the grand scheme of the universe, it was one of the few inevitabilities. And just like the first time, when she awoke in the middle of the night to find the candle burned down to the wick, there was Percy. Knees tucked behind her knees, hips behind her hips, chest pressed flat into her back. The most exquisite case of déjà vu.

Vex didn’t stress over the details this time. She’d said her piece yesterday ( _yesterday!_ they were mad to even think of putting him in the fray). Percy hadn’t heard the words, but they had worked. That was good enough for now, given the chances of their group’s survival. There wasn’t time for much else, and honestly, his mind was so very clearly (and rightfully) elsewhere. She couldn’t risk tarnishing their last days alive by saying what she’d already said, only to make things awkward.

At least, that was what she told herself. Her doubt as to his reciprocity had nothing to do with it.

But Vex was greedy, too. She was greedy as shit. So she sat up, just enough to blow out the candle, then she got right back down where she had been. Was she a terrible person? Sure. Maybe. But she didn’t care. She just cozied up as close as she could get without actually touching him, and she fucking _prayed_.

Conscious or not, dead or alive, Percy had never been in the business of disappointing her. It took the better of several minutes, but eventually, he stirred to roll in his sleep and found her there instead. His body moved closer, reattaching as he’d been before, arm falling in the dip of her waist. His hand smoothed over the base of her belly, two fingers sliding, incidentally, a fraction of an inch into the top of her waistband. Vex could have cried. 

Her heart was pounding so hard that she was shocked it didn’t wake him. They might die in the next forty-eight hours. They might actually die, and if she didn’t give herself even this minuscule chance, she’d regret it. She couldn’t bear to say the words again. But she could convey _something_ , even if it was just her desire to fuck his pretty little brains out.

If he responded in the slightest, she would make a move. One last night together and all. He might just give her that, if she could find the nerve to ask for it.

It took all of her courage to speak. “Percy,” she whispered, though it sounded in her ears like a scream.

He slept on. Vex let it go, resigned. She lay there, stuck halfway between misery and delight, and wanted.

* * *

Percy woke up before the others, and Vex was still in his bed. 

He indulged in the great liberty of watching her sleep. He had done it hundreds of times now, and in a hundred different places—in a tent on the road, on the lounge in the Whitestone library, in the evergreen boughs of a tree—but never in such intimate proximity. Even now, Percy felt he was too close; he shifted backwards a few inches to his side ( _his side?_ ) of the mattress.

Vex slept on. Vex, resting beside him, her face the perfect picture of ease. Her soft, shuddery sigh as she acknowledged his movement, her leg brushing against his, fleetingly. It was… unfathomable.

A sudden urge came over him. Percy fought it back, and retreated from the bed before he did something reckless. His promise to her was moot, now, so he made one to himself instead. All he had to do was live through the fight.

* * *

Percy survived, and so did Vex. So he kissed her, there in the woods.

He didn’t mean it as a thank you, or an acknowledgement, or an encouragement. Those were Vex’s signals, not his. This was something of his own design.

She accepted it much like his other gifts. The little gasp was just the same, and the tiny, near-imperceptible hum of pleasure.

Percy walked off. He had a lot to say to her, and they simply didn’t have the _time._

* * *

The night before the fall of the Chroma Conclave, some things were physical, others were not. A few things took that line and smeared it into a distracted blur.

For example, the way Percy looked at her after they’d had a dose of Courage and said, “I’d very much like to kiss you now.” And after he’d pressed her onto her bed and broke their kiss to find their breathing already heightened, the lowness of his voice when he said, “Can I kiss you, Vex?”

There was something about that. And the meandering path he took down her sternum, and the slight laugh she swore she heard (and felt) as he paused at the space above her hip ( _we’ve been here before, haven’t we, darling?_ ), and the heat of his breath against her thigh, and the movement of his fingers ( _one, two, holy everloving fuck_ ), and the gentle tug on her arm that made her realize she’d been covering her face with her hands, and, and, and—

There was no place for introspection, at a time like this. Percy wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the time at all. It was the thinning barrier between now and all tomorrow threatened to bring. And yet, as Percy propped himself on one elbow to look up at her, half-dressed with his trousers hanging off his pelvis, he couldn’t help but think.

“Come here,” she said, all out of breath.

This was something else. He’d had the thought on his periphery for weeks, maybe months. Not until now did it take form out of the abstract. Vex wasn’t here out of fairness, or a sense of reciprocity, or a fear of regret. There was no utility to it, either. And sex was sex regardless of the parties involved, but that was thing of it. Vex wanted to touch him, and be touched by him— _specifically_ him—because… why. 

_You know why_.

Did he? 

So much of sex was about everything but the sex. It was the pressure that welled in his lungs when he climbed up over her, dipped his head and kissed her, felt the invitation of her open mouth and the metal clanking of his belt as she pulled it from the loops. She pushed him onto his back, and it was the effortless way she moved over him, a stark flame in the half-light. Every little bit of him responded to her touch, exactly as she would have it. Vex took her time at his expense, brought him close, backed him off, urged him forward again until he forgot about everything else.

He was still recovering when she bent low to kiss him, one hand splayed against the center of his ribcage.

 _Yes, I know_.

Vex couldn’t say how long they’d been there when she finally understood; how many times they’d traded places, or how many breaks (“We should probably get some sleep, right?”) had dissolved back into a tangle of motion. All she knew was that Percy’s weight was bearing down on her, and she was clinging to his back like he was her only tether to the earth. He had surprised her at times tonight with some of the words out of his mouth—half-uttered phrases, delightfully uncharacteristic curses—but now he was silent, except for the rhythmic, ragged breath into her ear.

And it was so perfect, so terribly fucking perfect, that she almost said it out loud.

Oh fuck, _really?_

Vex caught the words in her throat, and swallowed them back down, mortified by the sudden burning behind her eyes. She blinked twice to clear her vision. Percy couldn’t have seen it, and she didn’t make a sound, but suddenly he slowed, and stopped, and lifted his chin off of her shoulder.

“What?” she said.

Percy was studying her face, eyes roaming across her brow, her nose, her mouth. She could feel the thrum of his pulse through her entire body, in tandem with hers. After a few long moments, he finally shook his head and kissed her, so lightly.

Words were important, as Vex well knew by now. But this was something else: an act of perfect honesty.

* * *

Apparently, one needn’t sleep to rest. 

Well, she _had_ slept, just… not that much. But, enough. Percy’s insistence, not hers.

Vex was sleeping now, or dozing, and by some miracle she could feel the wealth of arcane power restored to her body. A metallic clicking sound drew her back into consciousness. Vex lifted her head just enough to see Percy where he sat on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t dressed, but Bad News was partially disassembled, the barrel resting across his knees while he fiddled with the empty chamber. She watched the movement of his shoulder blades as he yanked one stubborn piece of the gun free from the rest. He cleaned it with the edge of the sheet, inspected it, then clipped it back into place.

“That’s dangerous work to do with your bits out,” she said sleepily.

Percy reattached the barrel, unmoved. “Less dangerous than a misfire against Thordak.”

“Now, now, I thought we agreed not to talk about dragons.”

Percy glanced over his shoulder, and his expression softened at the sight of her there, disheveled and naked. He set the gun aside and removed his glasses. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“What time is it?” she said, as he pulled back the blanket to join her.

“I don’t think I really care at the moment. Early enough yet.”

Percy met her in the center of the bed. He curled up behind her, and Vex pressed in closer still. His arm fell over her hip, his thumb tracing an idle path back and forth below her bellybutton.

“We never did have our ‘later’ talk, did we?” said Vex.

“That’s all right,” said Percy, with a pause to kiss her cheek. “I think the message got through.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for drinking my trope martini. I hope you enjoyed it. Drop me some love if you did! 
> 
> Title is a reference to [1000 Things](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4VDrleTWmFM) by Jason Mraz because I'm a sappy motherfucker. Other heavy listening for writing and/or mapping out about this bad boy included [ Spellbound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2RRmW7ph10) by Phaeleh and basically all of Phantogram but mostly [Answer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Od6m_VCe-PA). 
> 
> I was pretty tapped after finishing the behemoth fic, but then I made the mistake (?) of listening to the Vex and Percy Spotify playlists on Geek & Sundry. And I remembered that Laura B. had the gall... the gall!!! to include "Fucking Boyfriend" on her Vex lineup. (Stop my fucking heart, why don't you???) And thus the combination of two perfect playlists put juuuust enough creative fuel in the tank to write this. Also I really wanted to write from Vex's perspective because she is the best.
> 
> Anyway, thank you again for reading. Cheers!


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